


No name, no address

by MicekMucek



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Porn, Complete, Epistolary, Erotica, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Love Letters, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Crush, Seduction, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 07:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicekMucek/pseuds/MicekMucek
Summary: Hermione makes a list on her 31st birthday of things she wants to accomplish in the next year, including trying to seduce her two-year crush, Draco, by Valentine's Day. But, is her chosen method ever going to work?





	No name, no address

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I received was #41: "Don’t let him fish for your name the next time you meet. None of this ‘guess who’ stuff."
> 
> Please, be gentle, this is my first fanfic and my first manip ever, and in my second language too. There's no dialogue, but hopefully, that won't detract from the story. Thanks to the moderators of the fest and to my beta, the wonderful tofadeawayagain, who helped make this story immensely better.  
> I do not own anything Harry Potter related, except the weird plots involving JKR's characters in my head.

****

**10 January 2010**

 

As Hermione helps Molly round up all the dishes left over from Sunday lunch at the Burrow, she is forced to listen to yet another lecture on the dangers of being too picky and of being alone after the age of thirty. She rolls her eyes when Molly’s back is turned and makes appropriate noises at the appropriate times. Seriously, she is not too picky, she has picked! It is just that the person she has been in love with for the past two years has absolutely no idea and has, aside from that one instance almost a year ago, never indicated there was anything there on his side.

Never one to be deterred when on a mission, the Weasley matriarch assures Hermione she has the perfect solution. While clearing space to create a playroom for all her grandchildren, Molly completely cleared the attic of old furniture, evicted the resident ghoul, and rediscovered some long-lost treasures. One of the old trunks found during the clean-up was Molly’s own, from her days back in Hogwarts, she explains. Even though Hermione would be far more interested in going over Molly’s notes and textbooks, she is handed over an ancient looking Witch Weekly magazine, the once glossy pictures barely moving and the edges of its pages moth-eaten. She pulls one eyebrow up in question at her best friend’s mother and is soon faced with an article regarding 129 tips for finding a husband, apparently listed in no particular order.

She reluctantly accepts the magazine from the older woman, trying not to reveal how exasperated she is, and careful of the nearly manic look in Molly’s eye. The woman seems thoroughly convinced this is exactly what Hermione needs to fix her ‘little husband-finding problem’. After all, Molly herself received it from her great-aunt when she was named Head Girl, and it had proved fortuitous. It was obvious there was nothing to it, other than to read the blasted thing, no matter it being published when Hermione’s mother was five! Hermione rushes through the article, covertly rolling her eyes at most of the suggestions, almost scoffing at some of the more antiquated and demeaning bits. But her eyes snag on one, and she feels chills and a bit of apprehension at the thought of actually doing it. _Don’t let him fish for your name the next time you meet. None of this ‘guess who’ stuff._

Does she dare make her identity known to him? After all, she isn’t actually achieving much using her current method as far as she can tell, and perhaps it is time to demonstrate those supposedly innate Gryffindor traits she has been too reticent to ever use in her romantic life.

***

**14 February 2010**

Draco sits by the fire in his leather wingback chair pretending to himself that he is not excited about tonight. He hears a knock come from the window, an owl obviously trying to get his attention. Despite his self-assurances, his heart beats faster and there are wild flutters in his stomach as he jumps up to open the window. As his eyes fall on the bird, he is immediately disappointed to find he knows it well. _She_ would not have sent this owl. Denying that what he is feeling might be a sign that he is becoming overly attached to an unknown woman’s letters, he is quick to attribute it to what he expects the actual sender, now known to him, wants of him. As he moves aside, his mother’s beautiful owl Hestia flies in and lands on the perch next to a treat box, ruffling its golden feathers and regally offering the letter strapped to its leg. He absentmindedly opens the treat box for the owl and the letter itself. Although he can guess at the contents already, he sighs and lets a bit of his hope go. It is late already, and if _her_ letter is not here by now, it is unlikely to arrive by the end of the night.

Unsurprisingly, his mother complains about him not visiting, forgetting about her and ignoring her fervent desire for him to finally settle down with a worthy witch and give her grandchildren to fret about. He sighs at the bitterness now in his mouth and washes it down with the firewhiskey he was enjoying before the interruption. _A worthy witch._ He does not know many, but one comes to mind immediately, with images of pink lips opening slightly, of long sooty eyelashes against soft skin, of glints of gold in waves of silky chestnut hair, of the curve of a dainty ear as his tongue slips out and licks it, of the fall of a bosom accompanied by a sharp exhale, of long legs opening for him... He needs to let these thoughts go, though, as whoever is behind those letters might not be at all the person he wishes it to be.  

The firewhiskey does nothing to help his rumination, and he throws the letter down to the side table next to a small stack of four other letters, all written on fine rice-paper, his name visible on the cover. He takes the bottom one, obviously well-read and creased repeatedly and gives in to the pull of it, smelling the perfume he has learned to seek wherever he goes, and reading the words he had memorized all those months ago.

***

_11 October 2009_

_Dear Draco,_

_You must wonder why I write to you like this, no name, no address? I see you, you know, when you are certain nobody is looking. There is a shadow about you, a sort of sadness in your eyes. Or is it longing? I know all about sadness, it has weighed me down incessantly, and I understand. In some ways, it must be harder for you, as not everyone can appreciate the causes of it, the reasons behind your burden. I would like you to know that I do. I also know about longing._

_I’ve been thinking about the clouds today. How soft and wispy they can be in the summer, like the lips of a lover teasing my neck, dragging silkily across my skin. They make me sigh and flutter my lashes as I cannot help closing my eyes. Warmth envelops me when those lips touch my own softly, spreading from my center to the rest of me, flushing my face, and making me pray to feel more. Everywhere._

_It is how I imagine them, your lips, touching me all the time. Do you imagine mine?_

_Yours_

***

**11 January 2010**

Hermione comes into work on Monday, with cheeks rosy and eyes bright from the winter chill. She uses the morning to answer the interdepartmental memos and letters accumulated on her desk since she went home late last Friday. Lunchtime finds her in the little tea and coffee shop a few hundred meters north of the Ministry, rehashing her weekend with Darla Dawlish, her coworker and dear friend. She had just mentioned the ridiculous list on how to snag herself a husband that Molly gave her, making them both laugh at its hilarious and old-fashioned ideas, but Hermione feels a little off the whole while; as if watching the laughter from the sidelines and finding her own smile a bit strained. To be honest, she considers the original article archaic and somewhat offensive but the thought of it helping her to achieve her romantic goal is nevertheless enticing.

Last evening, after coming home from the Burrow, she considered using some of the more palatable suggestions the article provided. At the very least the one about her name. She sat there most of the evening, while writing her letter, thinking about actually signing it. Her heart was ready to burst out of her chest at the thought of him actually finding out, and she chickened out at the last minute. The letter was written, strapped to her owl’s leg and sent, with no name and no return address once more. Regardless of that one scorching kiss at the Ministry’s Valentine Ball last year, and his breathless countenance after they broke apart, there was no indication that it meant anything more to him and it would probably crush her to have her suspicion confirmed.

***

**20 January 2010**

As an undersecretary in the International Magical Office of Law, Draco is obligated to work with different Ministry departments when they are developing new legislation with international repercussions. This occasionally includes the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and its Head, one Ms. Hermione Granger. Much as she was at school, Granger is hardworking and driven, but her kindness and compassion are easily discernible in the work she does and the legislative proposals she collaborates on with him. When he first started attending meetings with her three years ago, he expected to see coldness coupled with cool ambition. He was, hence, surprised that she was warm, welcoming, witty and not as overbearing as he remembered. She found his input valuable, his dry wit humorous and he felt at ease around her, much as that might surprise or shock his younger self.

As months wore on, he found himself looking forward to their meetings and chose to take it in stride, actually enjoying her company. Even so, he was blindsided by what he felt at a Ministry function about a year ago, when that bloody Cupid’s arrow blasted in from one of the charmed cherubs floating about the ballroom, hitting them. As per the rules of the evening, the poor, unsuspecting ‘couple’ caught in the charm had to kiss for several seconds in order to dispel it. At the time, they were standing by the side wall away from the crowd, drinking champagne, laughing at some inane proposal sent to Hermione’s desk the previous week demanding all giants be resized and integrated into regular wizarding society. They never saw it coming. After being speared, his eyes were suddenly glued to her pretty, smiling lips, following the same path they crossed many a time that evening. Not that he would admit to it. His heart pounded like Hippogriffs let loose and suddenly his nose was filled with her gentle perfume, his lips were tasting champagne and chocolate, and his throat was making the funniest little noises.

When it was over, he was winded and wound up, but reluctant to look at her, for fear of finding revulsion and disgust in her lovely eyes. After a few silent moments, he snagged onto some silly topic, most likely the weather and then wished her a pleasant rest of the night. As he went home, his thoughts were filled with her and his deep regret for not having the courage to see her reaction to that earthshaking kiss. Those same thoughts consumed him ever since. There was a certain tension present whenever he worked with her afterwards, and he attributed it to his own concealed desires coloring their every interaction. He resolved not to make her more uncomfortable than she might already be and remains the consummate professional. As such, he makes the final few steps towards her office, steels himself and knocks.

***

_8 November 2009_

_Dear Draco,_

_I saw you walking the streets of Wizarding London the other day. I notice you are reluctant to meet people’s eyes, although anyone not observing you as closely and as often as I do, might believe you to be arrogant and lofty. You are that as well, those traits have been part of your façade ever since I knew you, but I know there is far more. I do not wish to come across as an unhinged stalker, I am simply lucky enough to have many opportunities to feast my eyes upon you and I am powerless to resist. Remember my longing?_

_There are other clouds I thought about this evening. White and gentle in their covering of the sun and sky, slowly releasing soft moisture on bright green leaves and new buds of early spring. I imagine to the foliage it might feel like the brush of long fingers over my shoulder towards the collarbones, down the sternum to reach the softness of my belly, while my lover slowly but surely laves his tongue over the buds of my breasts, drawing them up and into his warm mouth. The plants must shiver in such rain like I do in the flowing air of his breath over my other sensitive bud, wishing for that caress to never end._

_It is how I imagine you, seducing me into begging for more. Do you imagine my pleas?_

_Yours_

***

**20 January 2010**

Hermione is in her office, after having concluded a meeting regarding the amendments of the Foreign Magical Creature Trade Act with Draco. She is a little flushed, and her breath is a bit short, but otherwise, she survived. She equally dreaded and looked forward to this meeting, having revealed more about herself in her last letter to him than in any of the previous ones, short of her name. He had seemed more unfocused today than she ever remembers him being. Perhaps he is distracted and thinking of what she wrote. Perhaps he is just tired. It was impossible to tell, but seeing the slight pinkness of his cheeks and catching his eyes falling to her lips several times during the hour-long meeting gave her some hope at least. It is why she hatched her original plan in the first place.

Hermione had a longstanding habit of drawing up lists. The most important list was not composed in the form of New Year’s resolutions, but was something she worked on every birthday. She would take out the previous list, check all items that were completed, reevaluate the remaining items and decide what would go onto her new list. This last birthday was no different, only it was the first one to ever contain an item regarding _him_. _Seduce Draco Malfoy. Preferably, by next Valentine’s Day_. That was the extent of what she was hoping for this year, even though she longed to add ’ _into falling in love with me_ ’ to the end of the first sentence. Best to leave that to her long-term plans, though. It was hard even achieving this much, given that almost four months had gone by, and she was no closer to her goal. She had attempted flirting, wearing her dresses a little tighter, applying more make-up, re-crossing her legs in front of him like she saw in that Basic Instinct film. Nothing seemed to have any effect at all, so after a few weeks she went a different route.

She had decided to send him one somewhat identity-revealing, mildly erotic love letter each month until next Valentine’s Day, and if he showed no signs of falling for her charms, she would write it off as a bad job. Only, after reading that blasted Witch Weekly article, she was afraid the letters might have been too vague for him to guess at her identity, or he might not even have read them, for Merlin’s sake! She tried being more explicit, but it did not quite work. There was nothing else for it, she was going to have to reveal herself as the author, if she wanted any part of Draco Malfoy by her set deadline. That or she was going to spontaneously self-combust from unresolved sexual desire!

***

_13 December 2009_

_Dear Draco,_

_I saw you smiling to yourself the day after I sent you my second letter. I could not believe my own fortune at seeing you that very morning. I wonder if your smile had anything to do with what I wrote. I hope I could see you smile more often, whatever the reason behind it. I may not be someone you ever imagined had these thoughts, but I wish you would smile at me. Like everything else I do in my life, I long fiercely._

_You know, there is a wind accompanying the strong rains of autumn clouds, that twirls the fallen leaves and deposits them in piles alongside roads. The sky is serious and leaden, but the rain it releases is cleansing, erasing memories and leaving room for the rebirth of something new. I release my breath in shaky moans resembling that very wind, thinking of the rain as my lover, covering me in bruising kisses, grasping me strongly, twisting me to fit his rising desire, drenching me in his sweat and my own sweet wetness. All my veils and covers are pushed aside and lie forgotten as those leaves by the roadside, and I am naked before him, desperately craving him._

_It is how I imagine you, leaving me breathless and cleansed of all but the yearning. Do you yearn for me?_

_Yours_

***

**14 February 2010**

As he reads the final of the four letters, he repeats all of the clues to himself once again: the perfume, the kiss described in the first letter, the hints about her often seeing and even meeting him, of being fierce – a well know attribute of a certain Hogwarts house, of knowing him before and of the changes in their relationship… Could he dare hope it was _her_? Did he miscalculate, thinking that her letters – always sent on the second Sunday of the month – were leading up to Valentine’s Day, the same day they had kissed? Oh, to be kissed by her that way again! Just imagining it makes his blood boil and his skin crackle with excitement. He vividly recalls a moment in their business interactions that ratcheted his desire to levels he had never felt before. She had been wearing a sinfully tight white dress with her hair pulled up into an elegant chignon, and reclining in a swivel chair on the other side of a small coffee table in her office, right across from him. At some point in the conversation, she leaned back, pulled one of her arms on the back of the chair and slowly re-crossed her legs while looking at him. It was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. Ever since, he is assaulted by thoughts of her at the sight of any random chair; sitting before him, her legs uncrossing, widening as he steps between them, inviting him in-

Lost in a fog of desire, he misses the first knock on his windowpane, locked once again after he let Hestia fly back to his mother without an answer. He freezes shortly at the second knock and then flings himself towards the window inelegantly, only to find nothing there. Confused, he stands there all shaken up until he hears the third knock and realizes it is coming from the entrance. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers, he takes calmer steps than before and opens the heavy oak front door. _She_ is there, almost turned from the door as if she is about to leave. Her eyes are bright but unsure, and she is holding a letter written on rice-paper in her left hand.

He takes that hand and the letter and guides her inside, tentatively asking if it is for him. She blushes, smiles shyly and nods her head, having not said anything yet. He is utterly charmed by her, unable to resist pulling her into him and letting the letter fall from his fingers on the ground. His eyes are following that path from her eyes to her lips again, and then his own lips are touching them and the world around them falls away.

***

_10 January 2010_

_Dear Draco,_

_We spoke a few weeks ago and it made me giddy for days. Your work ethic, intelligence and sense of humor coincide so well with mine, I cannot stop wondering about other attributes we might find compatible. I never would have thought during the first six years of knowing you there could come a time when I would not consider you my enemy, but now I think of you as a friend, and wish for you to be more than that. We have both grown so much from the strife of our youth, and it was worth it if only to know you as you are now. My longing does not abate._

_Those winter storms can be harsh and unforgiving, bringing with them darkness, electricity and danger. My lover’s groans sound like thunder when he releases them next to my ear, as he pounds into me relentlessly, intent on devouring me whole. I am completely consumed by him, lost in our spiraling lust, at danger of losing myself and afraid of letting it happen. But I cannot prevent it, it is beyond my control, and I let him ravage me, plunge me into a raging firestorm with lights flashing behind my eyes, and bring me back out changed and covered in mounds of snow, marked as his at last. As I open my eyes and look into his, the storm in them has passed and they are alight and happy and content. Oh, to be lost in those cloudy greys just once, to call to him and have him come for me._

_It is how I imagine you, saying your name in the night. Do you imagine mine?_

_Yours_

***

**14 February 2010**

Hermione cannot breathe, nor does she want to. What air she needs, he will provide, breathe into her. Their lips are melded, their fingers exploring the skin that is there, but soon it is not enough, and they find ways to reach more – flicking, plucking, pulling, tearing. Without knowing how, she finds herself flush against the oak door she had been knocking on moments before, with nothing on but her knickers. Draco is kissing her neck, sucking on a spot with his lips, making her keen. Her fingers touch his face, his hair, the top of his shoulders, his right nipple, his lower back, all the while pulling him in closer to her. His skin is hot, and it burns her own, an inferno wherever they are connected. She wants to flow into him, under his skin, wants to feel what he feels, know that it burns him too. She hears him growl as his lips close around her nipple, his tongue flicking over it, and she knows he does. Understands that he is just as ravaged by the heat, the intense pressure to mold against her, to push his pelvis up and grind until he is incinerated. 

One of her hands finds the hard steel of him, the other reaches around to his backside to squeeze him even closer. She is mindless, but mindful, completely oblivious, but knowing exactly what she wants, what she needs. She pushes him away for a short moment and drops to her knees, taking what little is left of his clothing with her to the floor. She watches in awe at how beautiful, vulnerable he is before her, hard and pulsing and filled with the same yearning. Her hands touch him slowly, lightly, she does not want to scare him away with how much she needs him. He shudders beneath her touch, but says nothing, although there is desperation in his eyes when she looks up. Keeping her eyes on his, she smiles at him and then licks against the moisture at the tip of him, savoring the taste, memorizing the feel. There is a guttural sound coming from somewhere, and at first she think it is him, but then realizes it is both of them.

She now surrounds him with her opened mouth, her tongue writhing against his soft skin, his hard muscle. His eyes are closed, his head fallen back, his fingers unknowingly twisting in her hair. She loves him like this, open and unguarded, no sign of that sadness left, only the longing, about to be fulfilled. She gives of herself freely and takes from him greedily all he is willing to give. Tears pool in her eyes as she swallows all she can take of him and a bit more, as breathing becomes impossible and he is her only air once more. She stays there as long as she can, unwilling to let an inch of him go, her mouth sucking and pulling and laving all the while. Just as she sees flickering dots beneath her eyelids, she hears his loud groan, feels him shudder and let go, gasping her name. _Hermione_.

***

**14 February 2010**

Draco cannot believe his luck, cannot shake the feeling of being in a dream, about to be cruelly awakened. As he comes down from the high of imagining the haven of her mouth around him, he is surprised by the brush of lips against his jaw, his own sensitive lips. He opens his eyes and she is still there, her wide, moistened eyes evidence of what just transpired. He had just drowned in her but is preparing for another dive into those dangerous waters. There is the taste of him on her and he is exulted by all she gave him, all she took from him. She moans into his mouth and he grasps her neck with one hand, twining his fingers into her luxurious hair, and puts the other beneath her knees, pulling her up into him. He carries her to that same leather wingback chair in which he had waited for her and falls in front of her in supplication. She is vibrating, with nerves of desire, he does not know, but he will make sure it is the latter. His hands learn her, her dips and peaks, and his mouth follows. When her legs go slack and her back arches up, he pulls down the last bit of her clothing and puts each leg over the hand rests of the chair.

It is so much better than he dreamed. She is spread before him like a flower in full bloom and he intends to pluck each petal gently with his mouth until all that sweet pollen is on his tongue. She squirms and shudders and sighs and squeals, his fingers now slowly circling the welcoming center of her, and the tight bud right below. He feels her climbing higher, reaching and striving, begging and pleading, but he wants her to relax, to breathe, to direct her flow where he wants it to go. He tells her such and she looks at him with those doe eyes and acquiesces. Her body is now his to command, completely lax, an instrument letting out only the notes he plays. Her breath is deep and slow, she has given all of herself over to his lips, his tongue, his fingers. He is now everywhere, pinching her pink nipples, plucking her perfect bud, pushing gently into both her sweet holes and then she is bursting in bright colors right before him, screaming his name into the night. _Draco._ She is the most vivid thing he has ever seen, and he knows he will be dedicated to her worship for as long as she wants it.

As she pulls him up towards her lips, their fingers find each other’s and intertwine. It is far more than he imagined, despite all the urgings in those letters and his own fervent desires. He wants to see if they will surpass what she wrote in the last one he read. He draws her body even closer to his, and grinds his desire against her own, ready for that drowning once again. Their eyes connect at the same time as other parts of them do, and it is more than he thought, more than he had ever imagined, more than he knew was possible. It is a swirling, pulsating vortex, pressing from all sides, and pulling equally. There is no resistance in him at being taken over so completely, no wish to rebel or pull back, and he is as scorching and as molten as lava by the time he fractures into a million pieces of himself and gives her everything. From the ashes of that fire, he is reborn. Her eyes are filled with tears, and like a phoenix, she brings life and light to him at last.

***

_14 February 2010_

_Dear Draco,_

_We shared something a year ago. A kiss. I thought it might sate my yearning, but I had no idea what it was before that moment. It is a constant burn in my bones now, my want to touch you. I long for contentment, for absolution from that fire. I also long to be absorbed by it, consumed by the flames. Never doubt how deeply I long for you._

_I am thinking of a bright blue sky, not a cloud in sight. The sun is pouring through my skin, making me glow, the gentle air swirling around my body, surrounding me like a sated lover, safe and blissful. I am at peace._

_It is how I imagine you, being Mine. Do you imagine me being Yours?_

_Hermione_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! I'll be beyond grateful if you leave a review for me. :)


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